


October Bites

by Hexametaphosphate



Series: Shingeki no Anthology [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexametaphosphate/pseuds/Hexametaphosphate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve years ago Eren made his stunning debut into Levi's life, effectively worming his way into the man's heart despite their student/counselor relationship. Now, out of school, and after having completely dropped all forms of communication with Levi for five years, Eren returns to clear things up. It's time to go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stunt

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [十月之傷 October Bites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/979732) by [eyhjiulei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyhjiulei/pseuds/eyhjiulei)



> For the purposes of this fic, Eren and Levi are only ten years apart in age. Why? Because I can. Rebel alert.

A lot can change in ten years. Things profound and things trivial wash away just the same in the ebb and flow of time— a human construct that doesn't even really exist, so maybe that's not the right term. Movement is better. Things change and time 'passes' because we're always moving, never at rest. The push and pull of motion is always there. If we're measuring change by my own accomplishments, there's no point in dragging out a ruler, and bothering to mark it down would just be a waste of effort. I haven't changed a whole lot these last few years, especially not in any way that might be considered profound. I have my own closet full of skeletons but I'm content to let them fester a little longer.

Eren, however, is another story.

He had the nerve to waltz back into the picture when things were just beginning to click into place once more. He had the idiotic sentimentality to hold on to that stupid receipt with tightly scrawled letters forming directions ("I didn't need it, I still remember the way," he told me, "but I kept it for sentimental reasons."). He had the tenacity to grow up but still be so infuriatingly _him_ after all this time.

Ten years got rid of all the baby fat. Ten years made him taller and leaner and stronger. Ten years (miraculously) managed to make him a bit brighter in the intelligence department, too. Those expressive eyes were still wide with emotions and wonder, but the transparent naiveté they used to shine had either dimmed significantly or simply disappeared. The latter is such a long shot that I'm not sure why I've wasted brain power thinking of it. Trying to wrap my mind around the idea of Eren being completely grown up and not at all an idiot is just too fucking hard. He's bold and he's passionate and he's brave, he's fiery and he speaks before he thinks of the consequences. I dare say the kid has a temper to contend with my own. He's just not the kind of person who reaches that kind of enlightenment at the tender age of twenty-seven.

Let me take a moment to point out how hard it is to stay angry at someone whose entire presence makes your body scream to be touched. I don't easily forgive, and I never forget. I'm beyond pissed at him. I'm seething, I'm angry, I'm _so_ pissed off. Eren's stupid, bratty face forks my thoughts in half and it's disorienting because I can't decide if the first thing I want to do when I get my hands on him is strangle him or kiss him 'til he suffocates. Either way he's headed for asphyxia, a truth I'm more sure of than anything else at the moment.

When I found him crouched on my doorstep I stopped breathing for a minute.

I don't really remember much of anything in those fleeting moments of recognition after so many years apart. I might have slapped myself once or twice before I decided he was real and not at all a ghost. I may have touched him just to reinforce that decision had I not been blindsighted by rage and tempted to smash his face into the steps he so calmly sat on. Or into my face. No, the steps, definitely the concrete steps.

I'm angry at Eren, I can't forget that.

Somewhere in the midst of my thoughts I realize I'm no longer alone. Here in this park, this little nook in a gathering of trees where I let my legs swing off the edge of a small, wooden foot bridge. Here, where I find sanctuary when I'm not capable of coping anymore. He's one of the few who knows. What a dumb place for my feet to carry me.

He steps onto the edge of the bridge, the satisfying sound of boots smacking wood giving him away. "Are you ever going to come home?" I don't have to look to see that his fingers are worrying at his shirt. He's never quite sure what to do with his hands if I'm not leading them. I wonder if that's changed at all.

"Are you ever going to leave?"

"Not again."

Silence, featuring crickets. I can't think of a fitting reply so I don't.

"You used to be this age too, Levi," he finally starts. He halts his speech and I can almost feel how hard it is for him to swallow around the concept of thinking out his words before vomitting them carelessly. "You ran away too. You took time for yourself to grow. You know almost better than anyone else that I needed grow up. Well, here I am. I'm about as adult as I'll ever be. I left for me, sure, but I also left for you." His temper is rising with every word and his efforts to think before he speaks are evaporating in the heat. He hates the silence, has an itching need to fill it with words, even if he doesn't know what he means. "I'm grasping at straws here trying to be what you want— no, _need_ me to be, and you're just going to sit there and ignore it. It's like it's just not good enough for you and I never will be and you're so fucking cruel—"

It's funny, how easily you can catch someone off guard when they're growing increasingly flustered with boiling emotions. Eren gives me opportunities to catch him off guard more than most. Notwithstanding his height and the necessity to grab him by the collar of his shirt, it surprises him when I kiss him in the thick of his tirades.

"You're an idiot." I contemplate elaborating the fact, but what's the point. I've said it so many times. "I left no one behind when I took off. But you... you left so many people behind and you didn't explain it to them. You _barely_ explained it to me— which, by the way, you really should have thought that note out better, if you were going to be gone for so fucking long and eventually drop off the face of the earth. At least take me out to dinner before you royally screw me."

Eren just stares expectantly at me. Not because he's not soaking it in, on the contrary he's eager to do so. In the few seconds I've managed to turn around the conversation he's cooled down and acknowledged the fact that I have feelings that need to be spoken and that his are not the only ones involved. Maybe being away has changed him more than I'd like to give him credit for. Maybe he redeemed his stupidity.

"I just... I can't stand the thought of you walking out when I worked so hard to open up to you, to be able to convey these feelings for you. You know how difficult it was and for five whole years you say absolutely _nothing_ to me."

Deep breaths, calm down, don't lose your temper, don't strangle him with your hands, don't strangle him with your tongue. Why isn't he talking? "Say something already, Eren," I growl, pinching the bridge of my nose and willing the furrowed lines on my brow to go away.

"You've always been right, I am an idiot."

The brat stops there and forces me to lose another centimeter of control, forces me to look up at him again. Why the _fuck_ did he have to get so tall? I've played into his hands and he takes it as a cue to start up again.

"I'm sorry— and I know, I know those words are literally pointless in the grand scheme of things, but there are sincere feelings behind it and it makes it valid, and you deserve to know. I know you're angry and I know I don't even deserve to breathe the same air you do but I'm willing to change that."

His hands are still incredibly awkward. I wonder if they've gotten any bigger too. His fingers were already impossibly long, back then. I abused that fact on more than one occasion. Calling them 'occasions' makes it seem like it happened less often than it did. Encounter sounds better.

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Let me in, just for the night."

He says this with pleading eyes. Hopeless, puppy dog eyes. Fuck me harder eyes. Who am I to deny such a powerful force? I don't really want to say no. I know I have every right to tell him no. But his beseeching eyes, his piano fingers, and his sincere and almost painfully transparent expression are such a dangerous combination.

I barely have time to sigh defeatedly before his lengthy arms take me captive. They hug me with a strength I've never felt in him before, and for a brief moment I expect him to pick me up off the ground and twirl me around like this is some stupid teenage romance movie. The scowl on my face is mostly there out of muscle memory and habit and I'm not entirely unresponsive; a moment later I find myself hugging his torso and burying my face into his button-up shirt.

"Let's go home."

The car ride is silent. But not uncomfortably so. The silence wraps around us and draws us closer together. I'm actually impressed at how capable he is at keeping his mouth shut. He hasn't said anything idiotic since his first outburst and as we drive through the empty, night-stained streets I wonder if it might be the only one. When I glance over at him to stare his eyes are content with watching the road. He doesn't even flinch, just keeps driving.

He used to be a lot more nervous when he drove. The way he gripped the steering wheel would almost make his knuckles turn white by the time we got to our destination. He sat straight up in his seat, even if the seat was completely vertical he'd manage to find a way to straighten himself out even further. Sometimes I think I even caught him clenching his jaw as if we were at home grinding out some sessions in Burnout. Now, Eren seems relaxed. He's actually resting against the back of his seat, maybe even slouching into it. He's driving with one hand and its grip seems like it's on the verge of being too loose to control the car's direction. That hand is so big, was it always that big?

So focused on the size of his hand, I don't notice when we've pulled into the driveway, or when he's turned those pretty (dumb) turquoise eyes towards me. The moment I do notice he gives me a tentative smile. It's as dopey as ever. He starts to open his mouth but I don't allow it and press a finger to his stupid, dopey lips. "No, nope, shut it." He actually grins and nearly laughs at this. As a means to mask the impending smile on my lips I turn to exit the car and he follows suit.

Jesus Christ, Levi, whatever happened to being angry at the boy?

Once inside I get a proper look at him under incandescent lights. I tell him he owes me and he leaves me in the living room for the kitchen to make a pot of tea. The entry is a wide, open arch between the two rooms, so I can study him from the comfort of the couch, undeterred. I still think his hands are bigger than they used to be. The arms attached to them are bigger too. Lengthier, but also bigger in mass. Did he get those muscles from paid physical labor or were they just a product of working out on the side? Does the idea of Eren in the midst of a workout routine turn me on? Yes, yes it does.

"How have things been?" he asks me when he hands me a steaming mug, made to my standards.

"You still remember how to make it the way I like," I sigh after a sip, curling up on my end of the couch and tucking my knees up to my chest. "How do you think they've been? I can survive without you." He flinches ever so slightly at that. Does he deserve to be left hanging?

Looking over at that adult-sized puppy across from me, seeing that hint of a pout not necessarily directed at me, makes me think not. I add very softly, "Not that I want to." The words hit him like a wave of relief and he slumps into the couch, fiddling with the cup of tea he made for himself. He doesn't drink it like I do. He says he's more of a coffee person, and it doesn't surprise me. He's bold like the taste of the coffee he prefers to drink so it suits him. He drinks from his cup nonetheless.

"Earlier, at the park...." He pauses and scratches at the neck of his shirt, a gesture he almost exclusively makes while in button-ups when he's tripping over thoughts and trying to turn them into words. "You were right. I left a lot of people behind. I didn't really think about that when I left, you know how thoughtless I can be." _More than anyone._ "One night won't fix everything, and it sure as hell doesn't begin to fix what I might have destroyed with anyone else. But that's what I want to do, in time."

"But?"

He drains his tea fast enough to make me feel vaguely astonished (and not at all because of the way his adam's apple bobbed so enticingly while doing so, nope, not even slightly) and sets it down, remembering to pull a coaster from the stack at the center of the coffee table. "Being away so long made me contemplate a lot of things, about you. Around the time I stopped communicating with you was when it began. I thought about the seven or so years we'd known each other and how foolishly I pawed at you. I didn't care about the fact that I was fifteen, or sixteen, or seventeen. I didn't care that you were an adult with a job and a life separate from me and that I wasn't supposed to be part of it outside of school."

The weighty subject had made me sit up at some point and I'd abandoned my cup of tea. Legs crossed now, I pulled one of the throw pillows to my chest, as if its comfort might soothe the ache that began to fill my chest, the discord knotting up my stomach. His eyes are trained forward, at that empty mug of his. He's not fidgeting with his hands, content to rest them at his knees.

"And then when I left, and we stayed in contact, and how everything I felt for you intensified. At first I reasoned that it was because these feelings were true. That I actually liked you, wanted to find myself in a future where we both lived together and loved each other and spent the rest of our lives together. But then I got to thinking, about all those conversations we had when I was still in high school, about wanting things you can't have and how important it would be for me to stop doing that to myself. So then I decided that I was wrong, that I wasn't in love with you, or even the idea of you."

_Fuck me._

"I told myself I just wanted you because I _still_ couldn't really have you, that it was unhealthy to continuously lust after my high school counselor. I selfishly caused you so much stress and could have gotten you in such deep shit, all for my petty teenage libido."

"I'm flattered that you decided to finally, officially break this off with me. Face to face, how touching," I interrupt rather bluntly. "Do you have to be so utterly verbose about it?"

When I move to get off the couch he stops me with a hand at my thigh, effectively seating me once more and earning himself a scowl. I cross my arms, the pillow I'd held now discarded on the floor, forgotten when I'd attempted to stand, and I think of how childish it must look. Here Eren is, being an adult and acting as such, being responsible enough to explain why he stopped talking to me and I'm just being a big fucking brat about it because my heart can't take it. I've never claimed to not have flaws. "What?" I hiss, quickly losing my patience.

He gives me a look, one I've never seen before. He's smiling and there's this weight of knowledge obstructing the usual transparency in his blue-green eyes. "Weren't you always the one telling me not to jump to conclusions? I made you lose your temper on at least three different occasions because I made so many assumptions."

I made a face again, looking away in an admittedly juvenile matter.

"I was right the first time."

It's my turn to slump and feel relieved. The smile on his face blossoms and he draws back, but now he's on both of his knees barely an inch away from my crossed legs. "Oh?" It's the only thing I can think to say, still dealing with the aftershock of my own assumptions. Thinking some adolescent boy ditched you without any real answers is one thing; thinking that same adolescent boy is officially rejecting you when he explains why he fell off the face of the earth is a surprisingly different experience.

He's poised to speak again, lips forming a delicious 'O', before he decidedly shuts it. His absurdly large hands move to rest on my thighs and a moment later he kisses me. He kisses me hard and passionate and despite all my experience I lag behind, utterly stunned by the force and the suddenness of its arrival. Fuck this brat for catching me off guard. He grunts then because now I'm giving him a piece of my mind with my tongue and boy does he like that.

"Don't even think about it," I mutter when his hands begin to wander up my thighs, breaking away from his lips with a good bit of reluctance. Given the opportunity I pull back to study his face, telling as ever. He's still as eager as he was before he left. It doesn't take much to make him want me, he does half the work with his over-active imagination. "I have to shower, alone."

Fuck his pout, it's too goddamn adorable.

"Please hurry," he nearly whines.

I pry myself away before he has the chance to try and change my mind. He's already flipped my night upside down by showing up and changed my whole perspective on the last five years. I gave up being angry with him so quickly and now, barely an hour after he's shown up, I'm thinking about his lewd fingertips dancing inside of me. I'm still mad, I really am, but the thought alone makes me ache and I can't remember the last time anyone's touched me.

Under the spray my thoughts are scattered images from the past, of all the moments between now and the very first day I met Eren. He thought he looked so tough, sitting there in one of the two chairs lined outside of my office, his arms crossed and a deadly scowl on his face. He looked older for his age, not at all something uncommon for a boy at fifteen years old, but paired with the look in his eyes it wasn't quite the same thing. It wasn't just because of his physical presence, but _that_ look haunting from the depths of his hues. That look that tells you he's not as oblivious to the world as most people are. Even with that kind of knowledge he was still a stupid brat. A little shit who decided that he wasn't going to function with due respect and civility in social situations.

Because of this, we met.

I put him in his place quickly, all the while managing not to raise my voice enough for the guidance secretary to hear— with anyone else, a simple task, but Eren made every fucking thing difficult. Had I not been on school grounds and had he not been in attendance at my place of work I might have literally smacked sense into him. His good behavior didn't last, though, and the reasons for him to be dragged back to my office came endlessly, one after another. Fifteen unexcused absences, twelve detentions, four failing grades, three suspensions totaling two weeks of missed school, two in-school suspensions, and one itching urge to get under my skin.

He got under my skin easily enough, but I never expected he'd do so in an almost literal sense. I thought my morals might have won out if the situation ever arose, and maybe if it had been someone else, someone less tenacious and persistent— less _Eren_ , I might have. The moment we met our fates were sealed and it didn't matter to the universe that he was off limits in every way possible.

I uselessly pulled on a pair of briefs before exiting the bathroom, knowing full well what I'd find so wickedly lain across my bed. His socks and shoes were gone but he kept the rest of his suit on, playing shamelessly with my turn ons before we'd even begun. The first time Eren might have looked good in a tailored suit, but at seventeen he didn't have the kind of attitude to make it work one hundred percent; now, at twenty-seven, he had it. The thought of it— the fucking _image_ before me, makes me shudder.

"Are you going to come here or am I going to have to coax you?" Eren interrupts my reverie, and yet again I'm hit with the fact that this is reality. There's a man ten years younger than me clad in a well-fitted suit ensemble, sprawled across my sheets, and I'm about to be ravaged by him.

I make him wait just a moment longer before moving forward and pouncing on his frame. He chuckles, the sound so masculine I feel it between my legs and inwardly whimper. Was I this attracted to him back then? "Someone's confident," I tease, masking my flustered state quickly enough not to let it show. Being on top helps.

He places his hands on my thighs, his handsomely tanned forearms a striking contrast to the white of his shirt sleeves rolled up just below his elbows. "Is there any reason I shouldn't be?"

The way he cocks his eyebrow when he says it makes me want to kiss him violently, so I do. His arms envelop me until I'm pressed against him flush, his body heat seeping through the fine cotton of his shirt and the undershirt beneath. I'm so distracted by my own hunger for his lips that I don't notice when he's taken the upper hand and laid me flat on my back. I don't care, just as long as he keeps pressing against me, keeps kissing me back. After going so long without even being in the same room as him I'm determined not to let him get away from me so easily ever again.

He's gotten better. It shouldn't bother me, but it does. We were never an official couple, I even told him plenty of times not to hold himself back in the event that someone else did catch his eye. The more his attentions were elsewhere the less they were on me and the less I had to worry about being caught. But now I think of him with someone else and it makes me ill.

"What's wrong?" Eren asks, breathless. His fingers card through my hair in a worrying fashion and I involuntarily press into the feel. "Do you still want to? We can wait, I just got back, it's only the first night...."

Looking up under the cover of lashes I can see how concerned he is and it's incredibly endearing. "Nothing's wrong." At his disbelief, I indulge in a smile I'd been trying to fight off for a good thirty minutes, adding very tenderly, "I promise."

When he speaks again his voice drops an octave and I barely have the restraint left to stay stoic. "Good."

_I'm done for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading through this a few times, I thought Levi might be too out of character, but I feel it makes sense for his thoughts to come across the way they do. I don't think his thoughts have anything to do with how "blank" he comes across, other than the fact that thinking them is his way of "showing" them (though not necessarily to anyone but himself, which is the way he prefers) without showing them, because for Levi that's just not something he has the energy nor the patience to do anymore. I think it also makes a lot of sense for him to appear so vulnerable and comfortable in Eren's presence, given the fact that in this AU they've known each other intimately for twelve years. Levi's watched Eren grow into the man he is now for the better part of the time they've known each other and he's incredibly fond of him. Eren has also been detrimental to Levi's development, having actually seen therapists in the past twelve years to 1) learn how to convey his emotions to Eren in the beginning and 2) learn how to cope with Eren's vanishing act. So there's my justification for that. I do try my best to keep them as in character as possible and it irks me when people stray violently away from their established nature. :
> 
> I like this one a lot. I want this to be a full on series but I know I don't have the focus nor the patience for it. This piece actually kind of tested my patience as is— trying to maintain a flow without jumping too far or too fast and whatnot. I might end up writing a handful of other pieces regarding this. For instance, the first time Levi gives in to Eren's attentions, or the first time Eren wears a tailored suit and Levi loses his shit. Possibly where his scar came from. Maybe if they come to me. Anyways, here you go. Lots of angst in this one, lots of smut and fluff to come.
> 
> The Graduate fueled this story, and I highly suggest listening to their music if you haven't.


	2. Pull Me In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to "Pull Me In" by The Graduate (and the entire Only Every Time album). In fact, I demand it. I think it fits the arc of this story in every way possible, and as I listen to it while I write this story I feel it right in the kokoro. Anyways there it is, woop.

A full moon hung in the sky that night.

When Eren pulled himself away he got up to turn the lights off and pulled the curtains and blinds aside to let its radiance filter through. Something about the delicacy of the moonlight made the entire situation so much more intimate, so much more decadent. I laid on my stomach as he requested and he circled the bed before rejoining me. His weight settled when he straddled my legs, his callused palms starting at the curve of my ass while his lips opted to begin loosening my nerves at the nape of my neck. Those petals worked delicately over my flesh until I shuddered visibly; they grew bold and tempted my skin with teeth. I fought hard not to think about the drool that might fall from my lips he'd so deftly parted.

All the while his palms ghosted over the rest of me, their impossible heat both warming me and bringing to life a legion of goose bumps in their wake. Wherever his lips were not, his hands were. I felt hopelessly small underneath him, this boy who had dared to grow up and become a man at a staggering height over six feet. The bed shifted as he did, lowering himself to the small of my back and sucking sensuously at that spot. I bit into my lower lip and tried not to seize under his attentions. Something about that spot was so utterly sensitive in the presence of his tongue, and he knew that fact just as well as I did. In the midst of my thoughts I moaned and I felt his chuckle vibrate softly against my flesh as a result.

With his devilish tongue he trails his way up my spine and I squirm ever so slightly at the nearly uncomfortable pleasuring sensation of it. He ventures off the path to flick against the mark just beneath my left shoulder blade and a shiver sounds its way through my bones. He kisses the scar tenderly, licks along the evidence of a shallow incision and makes me whimper. The memories wash through me, of the incident that made that silvery pink mark and the days that followed, and something about it makes me fall deeper into the endless pit Eren had sent me down twelve years ago.

I didn't notice when he'd gotten his hands on it but when he shifts again and pulls me to his chest with an arm sliding around mine, pulling me onto my side, there's a bottle of KY in his hands. I sink into the seemingly endless expanse of his chest and let out an audible breath. I close my eyes but I know that he's smirking at me in that maddening way he always does when we're together like this. I hear the telltale squirt and move my leg for him, tossing it across his thigh, which he prompty raises as his knee bends. He slips his free, slicked fingers between our forms and I bite my lower lip once more at the gentle shock when they dive into my briefs and caress the crevice underneath. "Don't hold them back," he simpers against my ear as he dips down to catch the lobe in between his teeth, somehow convincing my own teeth to surrender my bottom lip, "Let me hear your praise."

 _Fuck_ , he's not an inexperienced teenager anymore. The thought invokes another shudder; I might have whimpered then, too.

The first finger is a tease, testing me, daring me to whine or squirm back against it. I resist— at least, until that fingertip presses into me. I bet he looks so smug, twisting that first bit of his digit inside of me until he's knuckle deep. The thought only makes me even more flustered. "Do you want me to tell you what you look like, right now?" he purrs out languidly, to which I can only respond with a soft moan. I don't recall making the decision to do so but I nod yes and press against him more firmly. "You're still clinging onto that facade of yours, still trying to act composed, but the color in your cheeks says otherwise." He says this as he pulls his finger back to thrust it in once more, eliciting another sound from me. "Just one finger and you're already mewling for me." The arm curved to hold my back against his chest moves and he slides his fingers through my hair, tugging my head back at an angle to better display my throat for his stupidly attractive lips to suck at the flesh, pulling away only when he's satisfied with the color he's left behind.

"Moan for me," he beckons, and as another finger slips inside I answer him in the manner he asks of me. Those digits suited for piano play me like an instrument as if he were a virtuoso, spreading and rejoining each other, making "come hither" motions that graze all the right places and make me writhe. I can feel how hard he's gotten at the small of my back and it makes me painfully aware of my own erection. The notion makes his fingers just that much more troubling, makes my moans just a little louder and a fair bit more desperate. He lets me suffer deliciously like this for what seems like an eternity, until I think he's going to just get me off with his obscene digits, only to pull them away when that sweet tension threatens to take hold.

He withdraws and I can't help but whine, the fingers I'd balled into the sheets somewhere in all the subtle chaos of pleasure finally relaxing. I don't even remember gripping them. Was Eren always this good or am I just forgetting how it used to be?

No, I couldn't forget.

Those fingertips grazed up my lower back, across my hip bone, over and down my stomach just above the hem of my briefs, and awaken new shivers in me. I press into him and hear something along the lines of a grunt and know that his control is beginning to slip, steadily being consumed by his desires, so I roll my hips undeviating into his frame. "Eren," I whisper, breathier than I intended, "don't make me beg." Gaining some sort of control of the situation, I move a hand backwards to slide it around his neck and further back until my fingers curl into his locks with a grip promising consequences. I had meant to sound more threatening but it was beyond me in my current state.

He chuckles and I feel his breath fall hotly against me, his damnable fingers ghosting the front of my briefs in an act of defiance. I think of breaking away and forcing him down, making him take care of the problem he created; my body doesn't respond to my thoughts. Instead I find myself squirming into his touch, releasing his locks from my hold to place my hand over his and force him to palm me generously. "You're in no position to demand anything." His words hang dangerously in the air beginning to close around us, dripping with some sort of confidence I knew he always had but never quite communicated. Now it's thickly laid in the air and I'm choking on it. "If you want me to do something, I'd prefer if you asked nicely."

_Fuck Eren, fuck his stupid mouth and fuck his stupid fingers._

"Fuck me," I hiss out, suffocating on the thought of actually voicing the word 'please'. Why should I have to ask nicely? Why should I have to ask at all? This little shit thinks he can walk right in and—

"Mmh, no, try again," he murmurs, that absurd hand of his diving into my briefs once more to take my length as if it were his own, squeezing hard enough to make me moan without consent. It makes it damn near impossible to think or be angry at him for being so goddamn _in control_. He slides his fist for effect and I try not to cry out but I have a sinking feeling that I've failed miserably; the cry I hear doesn't sound like me but it must be me. "What do you want?" he prompts me, still holding me in his vice.

The temptation to look up at him makes my eyes flutter open and when I do my attempt to scowl seems hopeless. Those turquoise eyes meet mine as he hovers over me with such a fierce look in them that it makes me shudder. In them lies an ocean of turmoil that I just _know_ has everything to do with me. It makes me wonder what he did, those five years we didn't speak, even during the five years before that when we'd write and talk via Skype. What did he do when I couldn't see him face to face? What was he doing when I wasn't capable of being there too?

"Please," I whisper feebly. The word hadn't crossed my mind for me to even think about uttering it, but there it was, heavily hanging in the space between us. He disarmed me with just that look in his eyes and any bit of strength I felt I had seemed to drain from every pore in my body as a result. Something moves in them at the sound of my plead and he untangles my leg from his to sit up, easing himself into place between my limbs which are more than eager to wrap around him. Even my arms stretch forward to take his neck and pull him in, an action he complies with wordlessly. My fingers are already tangling into his hair when I kiss him hard, determined to asphyxiate him as a means to sate my aggravation with his disappearance and his nerve to make me beg for him after the fact.

"Fuck you," I breathe, barely parting from his lips to say the words. "Just, _fuck_ you," I reiterate. He's just as breathless as I am, just as desperate with the way his hips have been grinding into mine. I can taste an edge of sweat from our kiss and feel the heat roll off of him in waves, and when I catch the look in his eyes again those pretty hues are swimming in a sea of lust. " _Fuck me_."

He pulls back then, fingers retrieving a condom from the pocket of his pants. His shirt is wide open, a result of my hands having a mind of their own during our heated kiss. I feel a fleeting moment of regret for destroying what must have been a pricey shirt before reminding myself that he deserved it and more. Even so, my hands are at his waist and tugging the belt open hurriedly, almost ripping his fly when I take on the task of undoing it. "Say that again," he entreats, his shadow falling over me as he puts his weight on a hand placed near my head.

My fingers curl around the clothes at his waist and tug them down and I take the condom from his other hand, ripping the small package recklessly. He's still so breathless. I can't avoid his eyes any longer. " _Fuck me_ , Eren," I indulge him, earning a pleasant shudder on his part, though it might have been more caused by the way I painfully, slowly, slid protection over his aching need. The fucking look in his eyes is more than I can stand, but I still hold his gaze; he's definitely not a kid anymore, he's seen and experienced things that shine through those depths and I have this itching desire to know what each and every single one of them is.

Eren's an adult now, making adult decisions, doing adult things. This chilly October night is the night we meet on equal ground for the very first time.

When he's ready he doesn't waste time. Slicked in a generous amount of lube he sheathes himself and it's vain to try and mask my gracious reaction when he does. Not that he's looking, his eyes are clamped shut with the sensation of me trembling so ardently around him. An endless moment passes between us in an almost strange calming way, as if this is the moment when we've truly reunited. And maybe that's exactly what it is.

He recedes as this revelation hits me and submits me to a passionately tender rhythm of thrusts. I can't fathom holding back anything now; when he draws back I draw a breath, when he pitches forward I pitch forward too. His fingers are gripping tightly at my hip, holding me to his thrusts, the way he used to hold the steering wheel when he drove. I know it's going to bruise later but it feels so good, just to know that he feels the need to hold on so tightly. I moan louder then and his movements react by adding more force, until all my moans are just as loud. They sound so easily under his attentions, leaving my lips before I can even wrap my muddled brain around the concept of sound.

"Fuck, Levi," he groans, his head dropping against the pillow, not quite beside my own. I slide my fingers through those brunette locks again in a sort of comforting gesture, though it might just be my weak attempt to hold onto some form of coherence in the fray of desire. My other hand preoccupies itself with the rolling expanse of his torso beneath his undershirt, grazing over the hints of defined muscles, until I've rested it above his heart. In the thick of it all I think that I can feel it beat as clear as day and my fingers clench then, nails biting into the flesh. Eren only grunts at this, or maybe at the way I've tightened around him with my warm, heart-wrenching thoughts.

That's when the heat decides to cave in on us. It swallows us whole and as time passes over us we cling to each other in the throes of unspoken feelings. I've heard him say he loves me time and time again, but those were the words of a clueless adolescent boy not knowing what they entailed. The way he fucks me into the mattress screams of love more than any of his confessions years ago did. Just as sincere, but now his declaration is backed with the full weight of the meaning of the word. He hasn't put _this_ into words, and I don't know if he'll ever be able to, with that dumb, dopey mouth of his. That dumb, dopey mouth that's taken mine hostage and is now spelling amorous words with his tongue thrust against mine. His rhythm steadily gives way to something more feral and desperate to last.

"I'm so close," he chokes just millimeters from my face, his sweat-stained brow pressed against mine, his lips not quite touching mine anymore but parted and still so dangerously close. In an attempt to apologize he releases my hip to take my erection in his firm hold once more, pumping out of time with his thrusts despite his best efforts.

I place my hand over his, though I don't remember making the decision to do so, and feel his whole body react to it in words I can't quite form. "Look at me when you come." His eyes open again, not at all heavy-lidded in his determination to give me what I've asked of him. The hand that I'd abandoned in his hair now moves to cup his cheek, thumbing his handsomely sculpted cheek bone underneath. I can see the frantic look in his eyes clear as day, see the adoration laid thickly underneath that fuels it. Those rumbling depths are just as pure as the first time I'd looked into them, even in the midst of something so lewd.

I don't hear when he tells me he's coming. I don't hear his cry of pleasure, nor do I even register the fact that I cry out too. So mesmerized by his eyes the only thing I feel is the sensation of immeasurable pleasure crashing into my limbs, like waves pounding at a shore that was so sure it was immovable by any force. Those waves prove it wrong; my eyes finally clamp shut and I let out a sound, something to denote the epiphany of that moment and all the moments before that led to me being right here, with Eren. It falls into the mess of all the other sounds assaulting our ears, not at all out of place.

I wait for him to speak, but he doesn't. He lays there, collapsed against my frame, and simply exists in the moment with me. With his face buried into the crook of my neck he doesn't see the unbridled smile I've let loose, and that's fine. I get the feeling that he'll get a chance to see it again.

—x—

I'm not a fan of soiled sheets.I'm especially not a fan of soiled sheets after I've emerged from a shower, but just this once I've decided to make an exception.

The scent of our last scene together lingers here. My body wash, his cologne, our sweat and sex. It's all there, mingling together to form a sensory memory I silently hope to never forget. I'm still overwhelmed by everything that's happened; it's only been three hours since Eren's return. I can't recall my anger and feel it as strongly as I did when I sat alone on the foot bridge, and wordlessly resign to the fact that I'm probably not going to feel said anger again. At least, not for the same reasons. Eren's bound to make my blood boil again if we never part ways from here on out.

Said boy shifts underneath me ever so slightly and I shift with him, drawing an arm across his chest and a leg at his waist. "Hey, Eren," I whisper, part of me hoping he's already fallen asleep. The flavor of my luck is indistinct and he stirs.

"Hey, Levi," he responds, the arm around my back moving to card his fingers through my hair.

"Brat," I mumble, nuzzling into his bare chest. "I don't forgive you yet."

"I didn't expect you to forgive me tonight, whether we slept together or not."

I pause, trying to formulate words, trying to put together all the half-written questions in my mind. So many things I wanted— no, _needed_ , to know. About him, about the life he lived without me, but mostly just about him. Who was the man I made love with tonight?

As if sensing the turbulence of my thoughts, he interrupts them. "I know there's a lot to be discussed," he starts as he shifts onto his side, forcing my head to rest against the pillows in effect. His rests just before mine and our eyes meet in the darkness. He'd remembered to pull the blinds back down but even without the moonlight his eyes seemed to sparkle. "I have a lot of explaining to do, and I have a lot of questions of my own. So many things I want to talk to you about that my head is swimming." He sighs in this wonderful way that speaks contentment in the moment and hope for the future, and I secretly pledge to make him sigh like that again.

"We have all the time in the world to discuss them, but all I'm coherent enough to say right now is that I love you, immeasurably so, and all I want in this very moment is to have you fall asleep in my arms. If that's okay with you."

No words left in my arsenal, I simply turn on my side and nestle into his frame, my back pressed into his chest. He hums out softly, an agreeable sound, and tightens an arm around my middle.

On the verge of sleep a realization hits me and wakes me. He'd said it, those three little words, and meant it with every fiber of his being. "I love you too, Eren."

His answer is a soft snore and I'm far too tired to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really, really, really afraid I'd seize up once I posted the first chapter and never finish the second one (which was going to be part of the first before I realized I was nearing five thousand words and had only just gotten to the smut fest), but here it is. Partly fueled by the fact that catsonfire bookmarked this (SCREECHES). Thought it'd take another night before I finished it but wow guys here it is I hope it's enjoyable.
> 
> I thought about prolonging the discussion at the end, maybe having them sit down to discuss in detail what really happened, but decided against it. There's a possibility that I will continue this to answer those questions, along with events preceding this (as I mentioned at the end of the first part), but please don't hold your breath. I'm awful at promising things and following up. Dx I have to admit that I'm attached to this story line, and if anyone is willing to breathe life into a series that entails everything from the beginning I'd be more than happy to discuss it. 
> 
> ANYWAYS YEAH if I missed any mistakes or something needs to be corrected I apologize, I really wanted to post this. Okay yes shut up Hex.


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